


Business Lunch

by owlaholic68



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Hand injury, Hurt/Comfort, Intimidation, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Torture, Whump, William is a real motherfucker in this one, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22085125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: The Head of Jacques’ demonic department is back in town for some reason, and he insists that James personally escort him around.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 6





	Business Lunch

The doorbell rings.

James raises his head and frowns. Who could be calling on the house?

He waits. Maybe it’s just the mail carrier or Girl Scouts or something.

It rings again.

And again.

James reluctantly gets up and peeks through the one kitchen window that has a good view of the front door. He gasps and forgets he’s holding a cup of tea, which falls from his shaking hands and shatters on the floor.

William is at his door. Jacques’ boss is at their _house_ for some reason. He appears impatient, glancing at the driveway where James’ car is parked, then back at the door. He rings the doorbell again.

An inpatient demon is almost worse than a bored demon. James picks his way around the broken china and to the front entrance. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“James!” William grins wide like a predator sighting its prey. “I began to think you weren’t home after all, or otherwise _occupied.”_ He winks and James’ stomach churns.

“Hello, Sir.” James wrings his hands. “I a-apologize, I was absorbed in reading. Um, Jacques isn’t h-home right now. I’m sorry.”

“Aw, that’s okay.” William steps inside and puts his arm around James’ shoulders, squeezing him in a half-hug. James’ heart stops. “You’re more than enough to entertain me. What do you say to a quick tour around the city, then a stop for lunch? I’m only in town for a few hours and I remembered how much I _enjoyed_ our lunch last time.”

Only a couple of hours. He can handle that. Probably. “O-Okay.” As if he had a choice.

“Wonderful!” William pats him on the shoulder before _finally_ letting him go.

“Please a-allow me a few minutes to freshen up,” James stammers. He needs to calm his now racing heart. With an apologetic smile, he scurries into the master bedroom and collapses onto the bed.

Jacques is the first person he tries to call. He doesn’t pick up. James tries again and again, starting to hyperventilate. This is an awful time for him to not answer, and James doesn’t have the slightest idea where he is. He’d been trying to keep him inside the house, but he had looked away for just a minute last night and Jacques was gone.

It’s a stupid idea, but James calls Lucy next. Easily the worst person he could call in a situation like this, but Jacques’ boss was her boss too, right?

“What’s up, nerd?” Lucy answers in a few rings.

“L-Lucy, your boss, your boss is in town, and J-Jacques isn’t home,” James manages.

“My boss?” She sounds confused. “Yeah, Jacques – oh shit, you mean my _boss boss._ Fuck. _Harriett!”_ There is quiet discussion on the other end. “Is he with you right now?”

“Yeah.” James starts changing his shirt to put on a nicer one. “He’s taking me out to lunch, I guess.” Talking to someone, even if it was the least sympathetic person ever, was helping.

There is some shuffling and muffled arguing on the other end. She uncovers the phone. “James, don’t freak. No, that’s stupid, you’re already freaking out. Shit, what would Jacques say? Breathe, or something equally useless.” She sighs. “Listen, Jacques would be pissed off if he knew this was happening and we didn’t do anything. We’re going to find him. Just stay calm, William wouldn’t hurt you. I think. Jacques would be too mad if he did.”

“Thank you.” James hurriedly throws on a scarf to cover his neck. “I have to go now, I don’t w-want to keep him waiting.”

“Yeah, don’t fucking do that. Bye.” Lucy hangs up. Charming, as usual. But not unhelpful this time.

William is pacing around the living room, running an amused eye over the eclectic décor.

James clears his throat. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir.”

His smug smile implies that he knows _exactly_ what took James so long. William shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, darling.”

James’ skin crawls at the pet name and he can’t suppress a shiver. He drops his eyes and gestures towards the front door. “I’m ready to go now. L-Let’s go, if that’s alright.”

Oh my goodness, he’s going to have to _drive_ with William in the car. James’ hands shake as he starts his car and William climbs into the passenger seat. “Wh-where to first?”

“I haven’t been to your delightful organization in a while.” William buckles his seatbelt. “What is that clever name for it? The Org?”

The Org. A safe first choice. James gives one hundred percent of his focus to driving in an effort to ignore his unfortunate passenger. They make it to the Org without issue and James parks the car.

William walks around the Org interior, making small comments about this or that thing, while James tries to control his breathing. At least it’s a neutral space, though a small one. He can handle this.

They make it through the Org, the two Cathedrals, the library, Sonya’s bookstore, and the Riverwalk between the two main bridges before lunchtime arrives.

“James.” William grabs his arm and James, watching the frozen river, jumps and squeaks. He tries to tug his elbow out of William’s hold, but the bigger man only tightens his grip. “Oh dear, you’re jumpy today! I only wanted to inform you of the time. Lunchtime, I believe.” He pulls James in the direction of a collection of blocks known for its excellent restaurants.

“Sir, I really-” James tries again to free his arm. He really hates when people touch his arm in the one specific spot that William is touching. Jacques knows better and either holds his hand or lets James take _his_ arm if need be. “I’m really not hungry after all, I think-”

“Of course you’re not.” William doesn’t let go. “And neither am I. But appearances matter, and I was under the impression that you still enjoyed the experience of consuming food.”

“P-Please, I’m not feeling well-”

That excuse elicits a mocking laugh. “Oh, you never are! And what are you going to say next, you’re too cold and you want to go home? Holy shit, just relax for once in your high-strung life and quit whining.”

James has no good response to that. He lets William tow him down a few more blocks, morosely dragging his feet until William good-naturedly snaps at him for doing so.

They stop in front of a Chinese restaurant, the Oriental Pearl. James vaguely recognizes it; there’s a sister restaurant on the Old Cathedral square that Jacques has taken him to many times.

William has a quick conversation with the host and drags James into a small private room. This is one of those restaurants that has too many forks and spoons on the table in addition to very fancy chopsticks. It is also very warm in here and James immediately sheds layers of coats and scarves.

Water is served. James has a mind to order tea, but William beats him to it. That is delivered to their table and William insists upon pouring it for him.

“You look a little down,” he idly comments. “Anything wrong, James?”

 _Everything about this situation,_ James wants to comment. He folds his trembling hands in his lap and keeps his eyes down. “N-No, sir, just a little chilled still from outside.”

“Hm. Drink the tea, then.”

The waiter comes and James realizes he hasn’t even looked at the menu. He wasn’t lying before about his appetite; his stomach is a mess and he’s not sure he could stand to eat anything. It doesn’t matter anyway, since William orders for both of them despite James’ protests. The waiter leaves and James wants to beg him to stay in the room just so he’s not alone with William.

An awkwardly long silence blankets the room. James fidgets with the edge of the pristine white tablecloth.

“James.” William tries to catch his eye. “Pardon my blunt observation, but you seem nervous.” He laughs to himself. “Or more nervous than usual, should I say.”

James’ throat has closed up. He mutely nods.

“Oh, why? It’s just me, what is there to be nervous about?” William leans in over the too-small table and James shrinks back. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly the demon sitting across from him seems dangerous. “Are you scared of me, James?”

He nods despite himself. Useless to try to deny it: he’s a shaky mess right now. He now understands the _freeze_ instinct of a rabbit trapped in a predator's stare.

“Aw, I don’t want you to be so scared, though.” William stands. “Are you worried that I’m going to hurt you? Or that I’m going to say something that will upset you?”

It takes a few tries to clear his throat. “N-Not going to hurt me,” James manages. “Not w-worried about that, Sir.”

“Really?” William starts circling the table. “That’s a weird thing to think, James. You really trust me to not injure you?”

He _has_ to believe that his relationship with Jacques affords him some amount of bureaucratic protection. Presumably, William would get in trouble for interfering so severely in Jacques’ personal life. He hopes. If James didn’t believe that, he would have freaked a couple hours ago.

“Yes, Sir.”

William stops behind James’ left shoulder. “Give me your hand.”

“I’m sorry?” James half-turns but is stopped by firm hands on his shoulders.

“I said, give me your hand. If you trust me not to hurt you…”

A test. James bites his lip and tries to think.

“James…” William is growing impatient. An impatient demon…

His heartbeat is pulsing in his ears and his breathing sounds unnaturally loud. He – he’s going to panic, he realizes. He’s been on a plateau of anxiety for too long today and there’s nowhere else to go, and he doesn’t know what to do except play along and hope that William appreciates his meekness and lets him go early, and James wishes that Jacques were here-

Jacques. He needs to call Jacques _right now._ With his right hand, James twists his fingers down to grasp at the charm bracelet around his right wrist. He squeezes it once, twice, and it starts blinking. A panic button.

“H-Here.” James raises his left hand.

William takes it, his larger hand warm and rough. “You’ve got soft hands,” he comments, and then chuckles.

With no warning, a sudden sharp pain in his pinky finger knocks the breath out of James in a scream, muffled by a large hand clapped over his mouth.

“Oh, honey plum, you _actually_ trusted me?” William tuts. “Bad idea.” He breaks another finger, the ring finger this time.

Panicked adrenaline burns James’ throat; he tries to scream for help, for William to _stop._ But William’s hand is firm over his mouth, and he knows that nobody will hear. Nobody will help. He tries to tug William’s wrist away, but he’s always been on the delicate side and it’s like an ant trying to dislodge an elephant.

All he’s doing is annoying said elephant. William sighs and digs his fingers into James’ cheek. Then, for good measure, he snaps his middle finger.

“You’re more naïve than I thought. Did you learn your lesson yet, or should I keep going? I’ve got two more, plus your right hand if you’re feeling particularly _stupid_ today.” William puts pressure on his broken fingers and James whimpers. Tries to yank his hand away without further pain. “Well?”

James frantically nods. The real lesson: he should have never opened the door for William. He should have just pretended like he wasn’t home. He should have pushed his panic button a long time ago.

“Good boy.” William lets go of him. He kneels and cups James’ face in both of his hands. “Aw, crybaby, did that hurt?”

No, no, James did _not_ want to cry in front of him. He cradles his hand to his chest and tries to stop but that’s not possible when he’s already gotten started and when William is still in his face and when his hand _throbs._

“You’re cute when you cry. I can see why Jacques is so enamored with you. You’re his little weakness.” William pats his cheek with a condescending smile. “And speaking of, don’t think that your beau can help you here. Against me? He wouldn’t dare do anything. _Nobody_ would dare. Understand?”

James nods, hardly able to concentrate enough to listen. He tries to calm his breathing but he can’t, he can’t breathe, he can’t, he can’t, and hyperventilating is only making him feel dizzier and like he’s going to be sick and the door opens-

The door. James thinks it’s just a waiter bringing food, but it’s a shorter silhouette.

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” Jacques demands in a hoarse voice rough from recent disuse.

William takes a step back and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Oh, Jacques, how nice of you to finally join us.”

Ignoring him, Jacques rushes over to James and enfolds him in a hug. He’s chilly from the outside and smells of oil smoke, but it’s him and he’s _here._ He whispers to James. He can hardly hear it over the faint roaring in his ears, but it’s helping him breathe and it’s making everything hurt less.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?” The words finally coalesce. James nods, then changes his mind and shakes his head instead. Jacques smooths down his hair and kisses him on the forehead before turning to William.

“You. Sir. Explain yourself, now. What the Hell?” Jacques’s tone of voice makes James shiver. He looks up at William, sees the smug expression there, and puts the pieces together of what’s _really_ going on here.

“J-Jacques.” He tugs at Jacques’ sleeve. “Don’t. Not now. Please. I – I’m injured and I just want to go _home.”_ His voice starts shaking. “Just take me h-home. Now.”

Jacques sighs. His posture suggests that he still wants a fight. “Okay.” He helps James up and drapes his coat over his shoulders, puts his hat on his head.

“James.” William’s voice stops them as they leave. Jacques’ arm around his waist tightens.

“Yes, Sir?” James turns and glares at William. _I know what you’re doing,_ he wants to say. _And I hate that it’s working._

“I enjoyed our morning.” William grins and if James had a more impulsive temper, he’d feel the urge to punch that stupid smile off his face. “We will be doing this again sometime.”

James swallows hard. He turns away. “Let’s go.”

They get several blocks down the chilly street before Jacques stops and sits him down on a bench. He worriedly looks James over.

“Here.” James holds out his injured hand. He’s still crying, but now he just feels tired. He doesn’t feel like explaining.

Jacques very gently takes it in his own and puts his other hand on top. Warmth spreads through his fingers. They heal with alarming crunching noises that make Jacques wince. He raises James’ hand to his face and softly kisses it, eyes dark with rage.

“Dear,” James wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He gratefully takes an offered handkerchief and blows his nose. “A-Are you in trouble at work?”

The fury in his lover’s eyes turns to horror. Jacques slowly nods. He presses his forehead to James’ and sighs. “That motherfucker,” he whispers. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

That’s not a tone of voice that James likes to hear. It makes him start crying again. “H-He said you wouldn’t dare do anything,” James sobs. “H-He scared me. I’m sorry, I should have alerted you earlier, but I – I thought I was s-safe-”

“Shh, it’s okay. You _should_ have been safe. But he’s a bully and he’s _wrong_ and he will never touch you _again.”_ Jacques pulls back and stands, helping James to his feet and keeping a protective arm around his waist. “Let’s go home. I need to invite Harriett and Lucy over to plan, is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s f-fine.” He leads them back to the car and manages to drive home, steadied by Jacques’ constant hand in his. When he parks the car, Jacques hops around to open the car door and lift him into a bridal carry. James wants to protest that he can walk on his own, but it’s nice and Jacques is rarely so sweet like this. He might as well enjoy it before he inevitably gets fired up about something.

He carries him into the living room and sets him on the couch. “One moment. I’ll be right back.” He goes into the other room and James can hear him talking to someone on the phone. Harriett and Lucy, presumably. He goes to rummage in the kitchen and comes back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate just as his sisters arrive.

“Hot chocolate in the kitchen,” Jacques mutters to them. Harriett scurries off, but Lucy sinks into the loveseat across from them with a suspicious glare.

“What’s going on?” She asks. “I thought William was-”

The glare that Jacques gives her makes James shrink back, clutching his hot chocolate with both hands. “He fucked up. I won’t be giving him the chance to do it again.” He notices James’ unease at his temper and softens. “Dear, just relax. Drink up. We’ll be talking for a while and you’ve already had such a day.” He sighs to himself. “Such a fucking day.”

He drinks. The warmth helps relax him, enough to slump to the side against Jacques, suddenly drowsy.

Lucy looks between them with narrowed eyes. She gasps. “He _didn’t.”_ She sits up as Harriett slinks back into the room with a mug of hot chocolate topped with a mountain of whipped cream and sprinkles. “Jacques, _no._ Please tell me William’s really not that stupid.”

“He did and he is.” Jacques pulls James closer and he gladly slouches further into Jacques’ lap, the hot chocolate slipping from his exhausted fingers. His eyelids droop and he tunes out the rest of the hushed conversation, vaguely registering Jacques taking the mug from him and putting a blanket over his dozing form.

He doesn’t wake until hours later.


End file.
